


This Old House

by TheShipSailsItself



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, houses dying of natural causes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19795492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShipSailsItself/pseuds/TheShipSailsItself
Summary: The Vera Manor's last resident.





	This Old House

**Author's Note:**

> Just so we're clear, I don't own any of this. I'm not making any money off of this. Read responsibly. Practice self-care. Curate your online experiences. Go nuts.
> 
> First fic I've written in probably more than a decade. It was kind of fun. I almost want to do it again.

Harry took a deep breath as if he could maybe one last time catch the smokey almost nutty scent that always seemed to permeate the house when all three of his charges had lived here. Now, depending on how the winds were blowing, the hallway where he stood smelled of thick, newly disturbed dust or rain and spoiling leaves.

The roof of the attic had finally given into rot and had collapsed the month before. Now nature and the elements had free reign over the three hundred year old house –no the three hundred year old _home_. It had been a home to four generations of Vera witches and eventually it had become Harry’s home, too, when three of the most powerful, most loving, most absurdly kind witches he had ever met invited him to be part of their family.

And when time took its course and one by one the all too mortal Charmed Ones faded from the bettered, safer world to their well-deserved rest Harry had remained with the house. Staying at first in the Attic where he had first introduced himself to his charges. Then as the roof first began to leak, in the guest bedroom where he had first stayed when his charges had invited him to stay permanently. And finally, when particularly fierce winter storm had sent branches into the tissue thin walls of that room, Harry reluctantly retreated back to the master bedroom, to _their_ bedroom. 

Harry gripped the banister and tried to calm himself as the ache of his family’s absence rushed through him. But the memories, his still raw grief would not be held at bay. He stumbled back into the room, sinking onto the bed and let torrent of anguish and loneliness that had still not lessened despite the passing of the better part of a century rip through him.

And that was where she had found him, curled up and wrung utterly dry of tears. He lay on her side of the bed with his side being littered with dozens of books and yellowing papers and parchments. 

Harry felt the ancient mattress dip behind his back and felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder. He struggled to rise from under the thickness of slumber, his eyes still to swollen open properly. The hand curved on his shoulder and glided down his arm squeezing at his bicep with a sweet pressure that filled his chest with warmth. Harry pried his lids open and watched as her hand slid down to cover his, her skin tawny and bright and missing the grayish cast of death it had had the last time he had held her hand in his.

Harry felt another sob welling up inside him but it was different this time. And when she laid her cheek against his and the familiar scent of her washed over him the sob broke out and his whole body shook. His fingers twined with hers and Harry wrapped their arms around himself and sank with desperate relief into her presence.

Harry’s whole universe narrowed to feel of her delicate yet unyielding embrace and the sound of Macy’s voice whispering in his ear.

_I’m here. I’m here, Harry. It’s time to go home._

_Harry._

_Harry._

_Harry, it’s time to wake up._

_WAKE UP_


End file.
